


In Sickness and In Health

by NoMomImTotallyNotReadingPorn, streetsuss_serenade



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Complete, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 02:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20418635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMomImTotallyNotReadingPorn/pseuds/NoMomImTotallyNotReadingPorn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/streetsuss_serenade/pseuds/streetsuss_serenade
Summary: A story of the time the honorable and kind Nate Fick saved the charming scamp Ray Person from the American Healthcare system for reasons that were definitely not personal.If super accurate portrayals of the American legal and health systems are your jam, this fic is not for you. If Nate being an idiot in love and Ray, for once, not being the most ridiculous one in a relationship appeals to you, come on in.





	In Sickness and In Health

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the characters from the mini-series

**Section One: In Which Our Hero Steps on a Slippery Slope, Inappropriate Selfies are Taken and Our Hero’s Friends are Delighted but Unhelpful**

This is all Nate’s fault. They went out drinking, and somehow, in a crucial moment, Nate hadn’t paid attention, because if he had, Ray wouldn’t have tried to do a 180 on a playground pull up bar, and wouldn’t have landed vertically on his head, wouldn’t have had a bleeding head wound, wouldn’t have ended up at the hospital. This is on Nate.

“You’re chastising yourself about how this is all your fault, right?” Brad asks to Nate’s right, and Nate is pulled out of his thoughts. “You Catholics and your deep seated guilt complex. Tell me, Nate, is there anything wrong in the world you don’t hold yourself responsible for?”

Nate can only shrug. Because they managed to get Ray admitted, but only just and only because Nate used the lethal combination of his best officer voice, and his best puppy eyes. 

“He doesn’t have insurance, Brad.” Nate whispers, even though the only people in the room besides the two of them are Ray, who is unconscious in his hospital bed, and Qtip, who is currently taking a selfie with Ray. 

Brad doesn’t say anything in reply, but he doesn’t have to. They’ve talked about this before, about Ray’s tendency to get injured, and his shitty dead end job a dive bar, which Ray loves, but doesn’t offer any benefits besides first dibs at the lost and found box.

Later, Brad will say that the next thing he said was all part of a master plan, because he had been watching Nate and Ray laughing so hard at the other that they choke on their beer for far too long without getting their shit together. So, in future retellings of this story, he will say that this is the moment where he decided that all is fair in love and war. 

“He could go on your plan, you know.”

For a second, Nate has to remind himself that this is Brad speaking. Brad, the most competent Marine Nate has ever met. But then again, the Marine Corps training tends to be heavy on killing, and light on interpreting insurance policy details. 

“Oh, and how would he get on my plan, Brad?” Nate tries to keep the desperation out of his voice, because as much as he’d like to share his plan, there’s no way he can. “Because the only way I can see how that could be done is for me to adopt Ray and claim him as my dependent, but please help me understand how I would convince the insurance company that a twenty-six year old bartender should count as my legal child.” 

Brad puffs his chest, and Nate knows that there’s a crucial thing that he overlooked. Because nothing makes Brad happier than correcting a commanding officer’s assumptions. 

“I can't believe I have to say this out loud, but you should marry him, then you can put him on your plan Mr. Got-two-degrees-but-no-common-sense.”

Nate does not even know where to start in pointing out the flaws in Brad’s genius plan, when a voice behind them pipes up. 

“You should do it, LT.” 

“Nice of you to butt in, Stafford, but apart from anything else, where would I even get an officiant? It’s three am.” Nate turns around, thinking this settles the argument, when Stafford speaks up again. 

“I got ordained. I can totally marry you guys.”

Nate can see Brad’s eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. 

“What?” Nate says, and he hopes he’ll be forgiven for the trace of incredulity in his voice, but it’s three am and his friend is lying in a hospital bed with a head wound and unlike Brad and Qtip, he’s trying to find a solution. 

Qtip shrugs. “I was bored and drunk one night.”

Brad speaks up. “So you decided to get a license to marry people.” He says it like it’s the most logical thing in the world, and perhaps it is, because clearly Nate’s definition of logic is on the losing side in this argument. 

“Yeah. It cost like $35, but I can totally marry you guys.”

“You heard the good man, Nathaniel. He can totally marry you guys.” Brad repeats, obviously pleased, and Nate has never hated their height difference more than in this moment, because Brad is using the one inch he has on him to look down on him. 

Brad must feel Nate’s resolve wavering, and he keeps talking. “The way I see it, we have a problem and a very clear-cut solution here. Ray does not have insurance, you have a great plan.” 

Nate wants to cut in, but Brad continues. 

“We’ll get you guys married, you put Ray on your plan, get his claim through, and then you can divorce him. He’ll never know.”

Nate hesitates. It can’t be this easy, surely. 

Brad leans forward. “Seriously. This is Ray we’re talking about. The guy who thinks the IRS doesn’t know he exists. He’ll never find out.” And then he goes in for the kill. “He’ll be fucked if you don’t.” 

Nate bites his lip as he thinks about it, and Brad presses his advantage, “This’ll bankrupt him, Nate. I mean, how much will this adventure cost him? The CT, the night’s stay, the XRays? So he’s gonna get stuck with what? Ten grand? Possibly more.” 

“Fuck.” Nate sighs. “This system is fucked.”

Brad claps him on the shoulder. “Keep your revolutionary zeal for another day, LT. For now, let’s do what we can and get you married.” 

“One condition.” Nate holds up a finger and looks at Brad and Stafford intently. “You guys don’t tell Ray about this. I’ll get this claim processed as soon as I can, and then I’ll divorce him, but he can never ever know. You got me?” 

Both Brad and Stafford solemnly nod, and Nate looks at them to make sure they know he’s serious with this. Ray can’t know. 

“So I guess the past night of merriment and drink counts as your bachelor party, then.” Brad says, back to being jovial. “Stafford, my good man, what do we need to get this marriage started?” 

Stafford clears his throat dramatically, “Dearly Bro-loved, we are gathered here to gather these two original g’s in holy swagtrimony.”

Qtip grins at what must be a priceless look on Nate’s face, and says, “Sorry, homie, I just had to. Let me look up the legal shit on my phone.” 

When Stafford is done refreshing himself on his duties and has charmed the nurses into letting him print out the forms he needs, he insists on doing a sermon along with the vows because he really wants to, and no one has ever let him marry them before.

Brad looks like he’s going to object, but Qtip gets a mulish look on his face and starts talking about how TECHNICALLY SPEAKING, he can’t get informed consent from Ray since he’s knocked out, and Brad must make the same mental calculations as Nate has, because he doesn’t say anything.

Qtip ends up giving an almost insightful speech about how marriage is about teamwork and having each other's backs. Nate is reluctantly impressed until Stafford ends with a bastardized Big Lebowski quote about how this ‘is not Vietnam, this is marriage. There are rules.’

After that, he makes Nate recite the vows, and Nate can’t figure out a safe place to look as he promises to love and honor Ray all the days of their lives. On the one hand, Brad’s smug grin makes him a little concerned about Brad’s motives in all of this, but on the other, looking at Ray bruised and still in the hospital bed fills him with a complicated mix of guilt and concern that he doesn’t want to examine too closely. As Stafford closes out with whatever required words he has to say, Nate has the strongest desire for Ray to wake up and say something sarcastic to put Nate back on solid ground.

Stafford signs the form in the officiant’s slot, then hands the form to Nate to sign as one of the participants. Brad takes the form from him and forges Ray’s signature with a flourish. 

“Do you want me to sign as a witness too?” Brad asks. If Nate thought Brad looked like a kid on Christmas morning before, well, now Nate is wondering why his best friend looks practically gleeful at his upcoming torture. Nate should look into getting better friends.

Wait, one witness isn’t enough, right? They only had Brad and...before Nate can voice that concern, Qtip takes the form back and, as Nate looks on, produces an excellent imitation of Tony Espera’s signature.

Nate raises his eyebrows. “Did I know you could do that?”

“More importantly,” Brad interrupts, “does Tony know you can do that?”

Qtip grins at both of them, unrepentant, “I can do lots of handy things.” Nate should probably look into that. Sometime. But not tonight, because, apparently, it’s his wedding night.

Nate sighs. “Just tell me you’ve never forged any signatures before.”

Qtip hesitates, looking torn between wanting to give Nate what he asked for, but not being able to. 

Nate tosses up his hands. “You know what. None of my business. Just promise me you’ll never do it again.” 

Qtip mumbles something that Nate could possibly perhaps interpret as an affirmation, so he is happy to let it be. He shoots a quick look back at the hospital bed, where Ray still hasn’t moved. Ray looks small like that, and Nate hates it. 

Qtip examines the signatures, real and forged, with a critical eye, and then smiles up at them.  
“This’ll do. I’ll mail these in and you’ll be chained to Ray for life. Last chance to back out.”

Next to him, Brad tries to cover a laugh with a cough. When Nate glares at him, he pretends to look apologetic, but he’s not fooling anyone. Asshole.

“You know what. Brad, as my best man, you’ll get me a coffee.” 

“Oh, I see. The newlyweds want to be alone. I understand.” Brad’s disgustingly good mood makes him look properly chipper, and he clasps Qtip on the shoulder. “C’mon, my wayward warrior friend, let’s give the lovebirds some alone time.” 

Nate really needs to get better friends. He turns to Ray, who is still unconscious, and for a second, Nate is deeply envious of his state. 

_________

“Yo, homes, did I miss anything?” Ray asks, groggily, the first time he comes to. 

“No.” Nate says, because that’s the truth except it’s not. But then, Nate will get this whole insurance business sorted at work tomorrow, and then, in a few weeks, get a divorce. Nate’s brain briefly blacks out at the thought. But either way, Ray will never know, so technically, nothing happened. Everything is under control. 

“You scared the shit out of the LT,” Brad pipes up helpfully. Nate glares at him, but Brad is, as always, unflappable. “You also gave him six months of fodder for his nightly self-flagellation masturbatory sessions. Although, now he might not need...”

Nate cuts Brad off before he can take that thought to its unhelpful conclusion. Brad is clearly planning on interpreting “Don’t tell Ray” very literally. And he doesn’t consider the implied “don’t make a ton of fucking obvious innuendos” part of his promise to Nate.

“You were unconscious for a couple of hours.” Nate’s not even sure how many, at this point. What time is it even? 

Ray responds by vomiting all over the side of his bed. At least he turned his head towards Brad. There’s some justice in the world after all.

**Section Two: In Which Our Hero Braves the HR Office, Gains an Ally, Loses Some Self-Respect and Ray Makes His Move**

On Monday, Nate is lingering outside his company’s HR office. He still feels slightly hungover, even though he knows that it’s more likely the lack of sleep and, oddly, the lasting image of Ray in his hospital bed that makes him feel off. 

Either way, Nate’s not at his best, which is bad, because he’ll have to work all his magic to not be fired and escorted off the premises. He takes a deep breath, trying to convince himself that in the grander scheme of things, this isn’t too bad. He’s just doing some vigilante insurance-ing. Also, he already got through the marriage part of the plan, so now the insurance part is just the logical sequel. 

“Um. Hi.” He says, trying to get the attention of the middle-aged lady sitting behind a desk stacked with paper files. There’s also pictures of cats, which Ray would absolutely love.

“Yes?” The lady says, not necessarily unkind, and Nate steps closer to her desk. 

“I need to put a dependent on my insurance plan.” He now has her attention, and gives her his wedding certificate, and the insurance form. 

She takes them, hums, and types rapidly in her computer. “Ah. Have you notified us of your marriage?”

“Um.” Nate says, because his brain still has not accepted the fact that he is now married. For real. To Ray. 

“Mr. Fick, you do know you need to notify us of any changes to your personal records as soon as possible?” She looks at him over her computer display and Nate feels like being dressed down by a teacher in school. She looks at his marriage license again, and her gaze suddenly turns soft. “Oh. I see.”

Nate is not sure what she is seeing, but he’s sensing a shift in the atmosphere, so he holds himself still. 

“Mr Fick, you didn’t mention that it is your husband you want to put on your plan.” There’s an odd emphasis on ‘husband’, and whilst Nate’s brain stubbornly refuses to acknowledge that he has a husband now, Nate thinks he understands. 

“Yes,” he says, trying to look as innocently as possible. “When we got married, I thought it’d be best to keep it quiet.” Which, Nate tells himself, is the genuine truth. “That’s why I didn’t put him on my plan, but he had an accident this weekend, and you see…” His voice trails off, but the kind lady nods. 

“Oh, I hope he’s alright?” Her concern seems genuine, which only worsens Nate’s guilt. 

“He is, yes, just a bad concussion and some stitches, thank god. They’ll release him today.” Also not a lie. So far, Nate tells himself, the lies are definitely outnumbered by the truths. He’s basically a paradigm of truth and honesty. 

“Well, the issue is just that normally, people would have to be put on the insurance three months before they are able to make a first claim against it.” Her voice is apologetic and she looks at him with concern. 

“Right.” Nate says, downtrodden, because of course their stupid marriage plan wouldn’t work as easy as that. So all he got out of this is a marriage with a guy who does not know he’s married, and Ray will still be bankrupt. Great. He grits his teeth. Perhaps he can get an annulment, at least, to save him from the humiliation of having to tell Ray. 

Before he can say more, the lady takes his hand, and tuts. “Now. I know this is not standard procedure, but I do understand why you were hesitant about notifying us of your marriage.” She looks at him with kind eyes. “I really understand, Mr Fick, and I’m sorry you felt this way.” 

Her sympathy overwhelms Nate, and all he can do is nod. She nods back and looks back at her screen. “So. Let’s just say that the records say you told us of your marriage right when it happened…” She looks at the certificate and back at Nate. “Three months ago, would you look at that.” She chuckles. “Nice when things work out like that, isn’t it, Mr Fick?” 

Nate nods, and thanks the gods - and Brad - for having the idea of backdating the marriage certificate. Brad’s argument was that it would look odd for Nate to submit a claim right the day after their official marriage, but Nate would rather chew off his left leg than admit that Brad might have been right in any of this. 

The lady types some more, and hums. “Okay. So. As you have updated your personal records according to our terms and conditions, we’ll now get the claim processed. Unfortunately, this will take a while, but your husband should hear back from the insurance within 5-7 weeks. Let me know if that’s not the case, and I’ll chase them up.” The printer bursts into motion, and she turns to take the pieces of paper emerging from it. She signs and hands them to Nate. 

Nate takes them, feeling slightly awful for her sympathy. “Thanks.” 

“Give my best to your husband, Mr Fick.” She tells him as he is leaving her office. 

“Will do,” Nate says, and what is one more lie in the grand scheme of things?  
_______  


“So how’s the married life treating you, LT?” Brad asks, sliding a beer towards Nate.

Nate grunts at sits down at the bar next to Brad. “Can’t wait to get a divorce.” He winces. “Though that’s gonna take longer than expected. Turns out my initial timeline might have been a bit optimistic.”

Brad hums, which Nate takes a signal to go on. “I managed to get Ray on my plan.” Brad cheers and lifts his beer. Nate does the same before continuing. “But only thanks to a cat-loving, middle aged HR lady who thought I was the victim of a hate crime.”

Brad laughs so hard he almost falls off his bar stool.

“No, Brad, you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think I understand everything perfectly fine. Tell me, Nathaniel, did your communication department contact you yet?”

Nate looks at him, wondering what the fuck his friend is talking about.

“Well, to take pictures. Now that you’re their gay poster child, I’m sure they can’t wait to put your face on everything.” He laughs again, so hard that other people start to pay attention to them.

“Glad to see at least one of us is enjoying this.” Nate says.

“Oh, I haven’t enjoyed myself this much since Encino Man managed to lock himself in a port-a-potty that one time.”

“Fucking Encino Man.” Nate says, and Brad lifts his beer in a cheers to that. There’s a beat of silence before Brad continues.

“I’m impressed, LT. I mean, you managed to sweet talk some innocent lady into being your co-conspirator in insurance fraud.”

“That, by the way, also falls under the ‘Ray can never know’ rule.”

“Which is sad, because Ray would love everything about this.” Brad replies, waving at the bartender for another round.

“That’s secondary to him never finding out.” Nate repeats, pulling a couple of bills out of his wallet and putting them on the bar. “Let’s just pray that I can get a divorce before they put me in jail for committing insurance fraud.”

“Well, Nate, if they do, you know what the first rule of being in prison is.” Brad slides the dollar bills to the bartender in exchange for two fresh bottles of beer. He turns around to look at Nate. His smile is wide, and Nate braces himself for the end of that statement.

“Snitches get stitches.”

“Fuck you, Brad.” Nate says forcefully, because he’s no help whatsoever. Also, Nate realizes now, he’s stuck in this marriage for at least a couple of weeks, and can only pray that Ray never finds out. Oh, and that nobody notices that small instance of insurance fraud. Great.

“Now, I've been told the first year of marriage is the hardest, so I don't want to judge, but don't you think it's in bad taste to be picking up people in bars less than a week after your wedding? You're still supposed to be enjoying conjugal bliss with your one true love. What will people say?"

_______  
The conversation with Brad is still on Nate’s mind by the time he gets back to his place. The problem is, Nate thinks as he’s unlocking his front door, that he was overly optimistic about the timeline involved. All these celebrities with their ten day marriages might have given Nate a wrong impression about how quickly all of this would be over.

His marriage is already 72 hours old, and although the thought of being married still makes Nate’s heart skip a beat, it’s time to face the facts. 

Though it was done in good will, Nate thinks, it doesn’t change the fact that I basically violated all of Ray’s rights and married him against his will. And he doesn’t even know, which makes this even worse. 

And Brad’s glee about this entire plan gives Nate no hope that his friend would ever sign the divorce papers. Brad does not seem to have any interest in this charade ending soon, because Brad seems to delight in being a pain in Nate’s ass these days. 

Which leads Nate to one mortifying conclusion. Eventually, Ray will have to be told about this, because Nate will need Ray’s signature to get a divorce. And, additionally, just because this entire situation isn’t fucked up enough, there’s the danger of Ray following up with the hospital about his bill, just to be told that his husband’s insurance covered it. 

Even though, Nate supposes, the risk of Ray proactively chasing up the invoice are pretty low. After all, Ray’s idea of good record keeping is a dented shoe box full of faded receipts and old CDs that he keeps in his freezer, of all places. 

Fuck. Nate is fucked, and he never should have gone along with this plan. As a matter of fact, he should never go along with any plan that involves Qtip having any kind of official role. 

It’s pretty simple, really. He could not tell Ray and hope his luck never runs out. Nate is almost tempted to go with this, until he realizes that the success of this plan hinges entirely on Brad - and Qtip - not spilling the truth. Ever. Brad might hold himself to the promise he’d given Nate, but Nate has seen Qtip drunk and knows that this plan is doomed. That guy turns into an emotional mess, especially when tequila is involved. 

Nate sighs. There’s no way around this. He’ll have to talk to Ray and come clean. 

To be honest, he's been vacillating between confessing and keeping his secret for days. “Don't tell Ray" was easier when Ray was lying silent in a hospital bed; it’s a lot harder when Ray is on his couch making smart-ass jokes in between naps.

When the doctor had said that Ray needed to be monitored for the next three to five days, Brad and Qtip had turned to Nate with identical expressions of mischief, and Nate had volunteered rather than waiting to hear what either of them had to say. So here they were, sharing Nate's bed and watching (listening to in Ray's case) a lot of Planet Earth.

The first two days, Ray had been disoriented and prone to forgetting what had happened earlier. He rarely stayed awake for more than an hour to an hour and a half at a time. It hadn’t been hard for Nate to resist telling him that they’d gotten married while Ray was passed out.

But yesterday, when Nate’d gotten home from work and relieved Christeson from Ray-sitting duty, Ray had been much more like himself, albeit a cranky and headachey version of himself. They’d eaten pizza and bickered over TV choices, and even lying flat on his couch, Ray remained the funniest person Nate had ever met. It was hard not to tell him, because they were friends, and Nate owed him the truth. 

But he’d gone behind Ray’s back and interfered in his life in a major way, and Nate didn’t know how he’d take it. Ray could be proud and prickly about money, and when the moment had come, the prospect of Ray reacting badly had sapped Nate’s courage.

But drinks with Brad have not only been an exercise in irritation, they’ve reminded Nate that there really isn’t a way around this. They’ve got to remain married for close to two months, and Brad and Qtip and all of Nate’s co-workers already know that Nate and Ray are married. It’s time that Ray knows it too. 

When Nate lets himself in, he’s pleasantly surprised to find the living room blinds open. Ray must be feeling better if he can stand the late-afternoon light. Ray’s sitting on the couch, facing the door, not the TV, which is playing Scrubs reruns at low volume. Automatically, Nate checks the blankets around Ray to see if he’d twisted when he heard Nate coming, or if he’s actually been following his doctor’s orders.

Ray spots the look and rolls his eyes, “I’m behaving, you suspicious motherfucker!”

Nate raises a skeptical eyebrow, and Ray grins, “Fine, I tried it my way and got a killer headache, okay?”

Now that’s more plausible. Nate heads back into the bedroom to change, and calls back “Where’s Garza? Is he out getting food?”

“Naw, I sprang him.” Before Nate can say anything to object, Ray continues, “Dr. Abbott only said constant watch for 48 hours, and it’s been more than that. Plus, I love that dude, but Garza is a weird motherfucker. I couldn’t take another minute of listening to him talk about swords. Do you know he has like thirteen different ones?”

Nate does, unfortunately, and if Ray had been subjected to the same monologue that he’d had to listen to, then he can’t blame Ray for sending Garza away. He picks up jeans and an old college shirt from the chair in his room and changes quickly.

They hadn’t bothered to go to Ray’s and pick up clothes, so he’s been wearing Nate’s pajamas since he’d arrived. It isn’t until Nate walks back into the living room that he remembers that the t-shirt Ray’s borrowed is grey with a faded Dartmouth logo across the front. They match and that brings a stupid warmth to Nate’s chest. He’d been ignoring how much he liked Ray in his clothes, but he can’t ignore how pleased he is to have the two of them match. It feels homey. Intimate. 

Nate has always felt comfortable with Ray, and he can’t say he hasn’t wondered what it would be like if things were more intimate between them, but he’d still been working his way up to it. Now Ray’s on his couch and more than once Nate has had to walk out of the room to keep himself from running his fingers through Ray’s shaggy hair while he sleeps. Marrying a guy without his permission is one thing, but even Nate is above creeping on him while he sleeps.

Nate stops in the doorway, momentarily bewildered by the mix of feelings. He hadn’t even managed to ask Ray out, and now Ray’s staying in his apartment and wearing his clothes and it feels nice. It feels right. Except for the big, glaring lie between them. 

He realizes Ray’s been talking and he hasn’t heard a word.

“I’m sorry, what?” 

Ray frowns at him. “I thought I was the one with the broken brain. You okay?” 

Nate nods and comes around to sit on the other end of the couch. Ray obligingly rearranges the blankets to make space. He’s muted the tv. “I said that since I don’t need to be monitored anymore, I’m happy to get out of your hair whenever you want me to, but I didn’t want to leave while you were at work without saying thank you or whatever.”

“It’s okay,” Nate says automatically. “Stay as long as you want. I like having you here.” He flushes. Way to be cool, Fick.

Ray shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Listen, I know you’re trying to do the Nate-in-shining-armor thing, but seriously, thank you. For letting me stay here. And feeding me and bringing people over to keep me from accidentally walking into traffic or whatever. I know it fucked up your week.”

He sounds so miserable that Nate brings his gaze back from the TV to look at Ray’s face. His eyes are looking down at his hands, which are uncharacteristically still. 

“I’m sorry that I’m such a dumbass that I can’t even be trusted to walk home without breaking my head open and messing up your life.”

“Hey,” Nate reaches out and jostles Ray’s knee gently, “Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing in my life is messed up.” Except for his secret marriage. And his upcoming divorce. And being outed at work in a way that isn’t bad, but isn’t exactly what he’d planned, either.

This is it. This is the moment. He should tell Ray that it’s actually the other way around. That Nate messed up _Ray’s_ life. 

“Ray,” he says softly, knowing before he starts how badly this is going to go, but Ray interrupts. 

“No, wait, let me go first.” Ray screws up his face in one of those expressions that Nate is probably not supposed to find as adorable as he does. He’s silent for a second, and when they come out, Ray’s words are rapid-fire, like he’s been holding on to them for too long.

“I want to suck your dick, okay? And take you to dinner and hold your hand and all that embarrassing stuff. I was gonna ask you out and I was as nervous as a virgin before prom night, but then I got distracted by the playground and and now I’m basically freeloading off you. And you’d do it for anyone because you have the heart of a Saint and the ass of a sinner, but I feel weird not telling you, because I’m living in your place and eating your stupid organic cornflakes that taste like cardboard. So yeah. I have a gigantic fucking crush on you, that’s why I’ve been acting like an idiot.” Ray makes another face. “Well, more of one than usual, anyway.”

Nate is becoming all too used to the feeling of his brain completely giving up. He stares blankly for a second until Ray's words fully sink in.

“Yes,” he says, “If you're asking me out, the answer is yes. That is what you're doing, right?”  


**Section Three: In Which the Insurance Company Strikes Back, and Our Hero Remains Daunted but Determined. His Friends Remain Unhelpful, and Marines Create the Solar System.**  


Poke is minding his own fucking business when he gets the call. His baby has a project to do for science class, so he’s tearing strips of newspaper for them to turn into a paper mache moon when she gets home from ballet.

The house phone rings, and he picks it up while continuing to tear paper.

“Tony Espera?” The white-ass voice on the other end of the phone hits the ‘p’ too hard, so Poke knows this means trouble.

“Yeah?” Poke is careful to keep his voice even. No point in pissing off whatever entity is on the other end of this official sounding phone call. To his surprise, the ambiguous voice on the other end of the phone identifies itself as Jaime, an investigator from an insurance company he knows he doesn’t have a policy with.

“We’re just calling to clarify a few things about a claim recently submitted by a…” Jaime pauses to look at the file. “Mr. Nate Fick. Regarding his dependent, Ray Person.”

Poke puts down the newspaper and gives this call his full attention. He doesn’t know what kind of bullshit Ray dragged the LT into, but it must be epic if the first time he’s hearing about it is from an insurance investigator.

This has to be about Ray’s injury. He’d seen the photos of Ray’s bandaged head and the mistyped texts Ray had sent in a rush, since he was banned from screens for two weeks, in the group chat. Someone had put a stop to that quickly enough. Poke had assumed Brad, but it seems his intel is out of date.

“Yeah?”

“It says here that you were the legal witness to their marriage. Can you confirm the date of that ceremony?”

Poke grins so hard he’s glad no one is around to see him. This is even better than he’d hoped it would be. Leaning hard into his ‘I’m just a dumb Marine’ persona, he pretends to think about it.

“Well, let’s see. I can’t say exactly. Hmm. I’m gone so much for work, it’s hard to keep track. Training exercises with the Marines. That’s where I met Nate and Ray, you know, serving our country.”

“In Iraq.” He adds, just in case this isn’t working. “Their wedding must’ve been...Coupla months back?”

The investigator makes a hmming sound, and before Poke has to answer another question he doesn’t know the right answer for, he takes a calculated risk. “Was a small ceremony. Not much fuss. Just me and Brad.”

“This is Brad Colbert? The other witness?”  


Poke does a tiny victory fist pump. He knew Colbert would be mixed up in this. He’d been matchmaking Nate and Ray for months.

“Yeah, man, he and Ray are very close. They go back. They served together a long time. In the Marines. Semper Fi and all that.”

The investigator’s civilian guilt must finally be kicking in, because he doesn’t ask any other questions. He sighs and says “And you’d swear to this on an affidavit? That you attended the wedding of Nathaniel Fick to Joshua Ray Person on August 16th of this year?”

Poke has so many questions for his friends. And the first is going to be exactly how they thought they could drag him into this bullshit scheme without even the courtesy of a heads up. White boys, honestly. It’s probably their first time committing fraud. But all he says is

“Absolutely.”

As soon as the investigator hangs up, Poke dials Brad’s number.

“Something you forgot to tell me, man?”

______  


Nate’s original plan for the evening was to meet up with Ray after Nate’s work but before Ray’s first shift back at the bar, but that was upended by an emergency text from Poke to the group, asking for last-minute help on a school project. Something about science class, and his girl having a meltdown. So here they were, Poke, Brad and Nate, in Poke’s kitchen in the middle of the night, trying to craft a model of the solar system.

“I expected better of you.” Poke says, interrupting their focused silence. “I always knew that white men had a questionable definition of consent, but I thought you weren’t one of them Frat Boys.”

Nate stares at him, uncomprehending, when Brad chimes in.  


“You know that Nate’s wearing khakis, right? He might try to deny it, but he is a Frat Boy at heart. A spiritual frat boy, if you want.”

Nate turns to Brad, who smiles innocently at him. Nate isn’t fooled, but instead of calling Brad out, he turns back to Poke. He suspects that Poke waited with the verbal assault until Nate was elbow-deep in paper mache. Poke might not have gone through Officer School, but he’s a Marine alright.

“What the hell do you mean?” Nate asks, trying to scrape the glue off his arms. It’s a hopeless case, and Nate wonders if a hot shower will do the trick or whether he’ll have to explain to his boss how he ended up with newspaper clippings glued to his arms.

Poke smiles. “I know your dirty, dirty secret, LT. Who would have thought. But then, perhaps I should say Congratulations?”

Nate says nothing, because he’s not sure what to say. Logically, Poke can only be referring to one thing, but everyone who knows has been sworn to secrecy, so he can’t know about it. Surely. Because if Poke knows, this is bad. Handling Brad and Qtip and making sure they don’t spill the secret is enough of a challenge. Nate does not need Poke on his hands, as well. Because if Poke knows, Mike will know in a hot second, and Nate is not ready for that conversation.

“I have no clue what you are talking about, Tony.” Nate says between gritted teeth, torn between wanting to know more and changing the subject. He slaps some more paper mache on his balloon, hoping it’ll turn out vaguely planet-shaped.

“Your marriage.” Nate’s face must have given him away, because Tony laughs so hard he’s clapping his knees in joy. “Oh boy. Never thought you’d had it in you, LT. Insurance fraud AND marriage scamming?”

“Well, Poke, you know what they say. It’s always the ones you suspect the least.” Brad adds and turns to Nate. “And before you start ranting about the promise, I just want to point out that your exact words were ‘Ray can never know about this’, not ‘nobody can know about this’.”

“Oh, so you went and told everyone about it?” Nate says, angrily, because his grandma’s knitting circle has nothing on his marines in terms of gossiping, and he’s now going to have to manage a whole platoon full of guys who could tell Ray.

Ray, who texted Nate about almost being sorry about not making Poke’s arts and craft night because he is back at work, but promised to drink enough water and no beer. And who sent pictures of all the dogs he ran into on his commute. Dating Ray, Nate is discovering, comes with a lot of texts, both inane and informative.

“Nope.” Brad says, his tongue almost touching his nose as he focuses on getting the shade of paint exactly right.

“I never should have trusted Qtip.” Nate says, deflated.

“Wasn’t Qtip either, LT.” Poke says. “Though, in all fairness, he did tell Christeson. You can’t expect one to keep a secret from the other.”

Nate supposes that’s fair. Those two are joined at the hip.

“I have so many questions, LT. I mean. Getting married by Qtip? How does that even look like?” Poke asks as he is comparing pictures of the moon on his iPad and the sorry grey blob that rests in his lap.

Brad cuts in. “Surprisingly coherent. He remembered all the words, and made quite a nice speech about the commitment of marriage. Better than the guy Stiney hired for his wedding, that’s for sure.”

“Who would have guessed. Qtip.” Poke nods, appreciative.

“I’m glad that we all agree on Qtip’s oratory skills, but can we go back to how the fuck you found out about this?” Nate’s voice might be raised a bit at the end.

“Ah, the post-wedding jitters. I remember that time. Don’t worry, LT, I know society is putting a lot of pressure on the post-marriage bliss, but in my experience, that’s all a load of bull-”

“Poke.” Nate says, and Poke throws his hands in the air.

“Okay. I got a call from your insurance agency.”

“What.” Nate says, dropping his hand in the paper mache bowl and splashing some of it on his pants. Ray can still wear them at work, Nate supposes, before Poke’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Imagine my surprise when they asked me to confirm that I was indeed a witness of Nathaniel Fick’s union to a Joshua Ray Person. Wanted me to fill out an affidavit, even. So, Brad, please add ‘subornation of perjury’ to the list.”

“What.”

“Don’t worry, LT. I got your back. A bit of head’s up would have been nice, not gonna lie, but I’ll take any chance to lie to the corporations, you know me.”

“Did they call you as well?” Nate asks Brad.

Brad smiles. “Sure they did.” He changes his voice to be his best, brightest, full-of-bullshit Sergeant voice. “Yes, I was there, sir, beautiful ceremony, just wonderful, really small wedding, I was so honoured to be there-” Nate punches him in the arm because Brad deserves it.

“There’s an audit?” he says, alarmed, because this is quickly getting out of control.

“Mh-m.” Poke hums, critically eyeing the grey blob. “Don’t worry, though. We got your back.”

“So let me get this straight.” Nate says, moving his hand to pinch his nose to avoid a stress headache before remembering the thick glue coating his fingers. “My insurance company is now auditing me.” Poke and Brad nod, and Nate continues. “And besides you two, Christeson knows now.” They nod again, and Nate joins. “Great.”

“Oh, and I think Manimal knows too.” Brad says. “He asked where he should send flowers, but don’t worry, I told him to send them to Poke’s.”

“Beautiful bouquet, really.” Poke says. “Boy’s got surprisingly good taste in flowers.”

Brad hums in affirmation. “But don’t worry, Nate. We decided not to tell Walt. Someone has to support Ray, after all.”

________

The advantage about freaking out over an insurance audit that could possibly land you in jail is that Nate doesn’t have a chance to freak out over going on a date. So when he turns up at the diner across from Ray’s place, he is still thinking about the invitation to sit on his company’s pride committee, but very much not about what brought him here in the first place.

That is, until he spots Ray sitting in a booth at the very far corner of the restaurant. There’s a small pile of torn napkins on the table in front of him, and Nate checks the time. He’s on time, which means Ray must have been there for a while.

When Ray sees Nate, he smiles and waves. His joy at seeing Nate is endearing, and it sends a deep sense of guilt down Nate’s body. He’ll hate me if he finds out, Nate thinks, but smiles and waves back.

“Hey,” Ray says, getting up. Nate can see that Ray is wearing his best black shirt, the one that Nate borrowed one time and almost didn’t want to give back because it was so soft.

“Hey,” Nate answers, forcing the guilty feeling in his stomach back down. Surely, telling someone on a date that you married them against their will is bad etiquette. He can’t tell Ray now, not when Ray is animatedly chatting about milkshake options.  


"So, how much of your soul did the corporate machine drain today?” Ray asks, after having elaborately discussed the virtues of strawberry milkshake over chocolate.

Nate smiles. “Only an ounce, Ray. You know, I actually like my job.”

Ray nods along. “That’s how they get you. One tiny bit at a time, it really adds up over time. It’s like that one Spongebob episode.”

And they are off to the races from there on, Ray drawing up even more elaborate conspiracy theories about Nate’s work, and Nate can feel himself relaxing. This is just Ray, he thinks.

Things are going well until the bill arrives. Nate reaches for it, but Ray slaps him on his hand.

“Don’t do that, Nathaniel.” Ray looks at Nate.

“But I want to treat you.” Nate says, trying to reach the bill that Ray is holding outside his reach.

Ray sighs. “Okay, we better talk about this now.” He puts the bill back on the table, but the seriousness in Ray’s voice keeps Nate from reaching for it. Instead, he looks at Ray, who’s fiddling with his shirt.

“Look, Nate, you’re obviously earning more than I do.” Ray grimaces, but continues. “And I’d rather talk about this now before it becomes a huge thing, okay? And it’s not like you paying for stuff makes me feel like less of a man or some bullshit like that, it’s just…” his voice trails off, and he looks out of the window before looking back at Nate.

“I want to get this right. And that means we have to be equals in this.” He waves his hand between him and Nate. “I can’t let you pay for my stuff, Nate.”

The knot of dread is back in Nate’s stomach, and it looks like it’s here to stay. Because Ray might be talking about splitting the bill on two milkshakes and two burgers, but Nate is thinking about the detailed hospital invoice that landed in his inbox this morning. Ray will hate me if he finds out, Nate thinks. Because it’s not just about marrying him without his consent, now it’s also about money and pride.

They all know Ray is more or less scraping by, and more than once, Nate and Brad have discussed how Ray is just about making ends meet, but Ray’s pride has always kept them from helping him outright. Until Nate decided that marrying Ray would be the best way to deal with this. Jesus. Nate wonders if he would be able to plead for insanity in his trial.

“Nate?” Ray asks, his voice uncharacteristically small, and Nate snaps back to the present.

“Okay.” Nate says, because it’s really the only thing he can say. “Let’s go halfsies, then.”

Ray smiles, and it’s a brilliant smile, a smile that makes Nate feel marginally better about himself and the choices in his life that led him here.

“I can’t believe I just told you I wouldn’t let you be my sugar daddy.” Ray replies, shaking his head.

“Ray, if you wanted a sugar daddy, you’d need to look elsewhere. Soul sucking corporate work only pays so much.”

______  


As soon as he arrives at Mike’s kid’s birthday party, Nate can tell that Mike knows. The air is so thick with his disapproval that Nate’s stomach is knotting before Cara’s even done greeting him at the door. Nate heads to the kitchen, dropping off the book he brought with the other presents, and greets Mike and Cara’s family. He’s a regular at these events, so he knows most of the folks here, and he spends a few minutes greeting them and ignoring the accusing stare that Mike is aiming at his back through the window while he grills.

When he turns, Mike, who’s been watching him, raises a disappointed eyebrow at him, encompassing both Nate’s avoidance and his marriage to Ray.

Nate shakes his head in return. He’s not in the market for a lecture on how irresponsible he’s been. His conscience has been doing plenty of that.

Mike rolls his eyes. He’s never had any patience for Nate’s fits of self-blame.

Nate gives him a rueful half-smile, excuse and apology for not telling Mike himself in one gesture, and Mike gives him his trademark resigned shrug, throwing in a headshake to let Nate know that it’ll be a clusterfuck, but they’ll handle it.

Nate feels much better with that difficult conversation taken care of, so he grabs two beers and heads out to keep Mike company at the grill.

**Section Four: In Which Our Hero Goes on Dates that Our Authors Didn’t Bother to Write Out, Ray Worries about The State of His Wardrobe, and Rudy Makes Things Worse by Trying To Make Ray A Better Person**

Nate has a lot of friends who grew up to be lawyers, but he only has one who’d celebrated passing the bar by collecting a dollar from all of his friends as a retainer, so that all future confessions of wrong-doing would be covered by attorney-client privilege.

Conveniently, Dustin is also the friend from college about whom Nate has the best blackmail stories. He’s a corporate attorney rather than a criminal one, but he seems like the best bet for helping Nate figure out exactly how fucked he is.

They start the conversation with the usual catching up - Dustin’s firm’s softball team is looking good this year- but eventually Nate has to tell his friend why he called. First, he starts by checking that the retainer thing was actually accurate, and not just Dustin’s idea of a joke - a way to get his friends to buy his next drink - then he lays out the entire humiliating story.

At the end, Nate adds, “Before you say anything, I want you to remember that one time when you climbed on the roof of the performing arts building and started screaming about being King Kong, I convinced the cops that it was actually a performance art piece making a statement about the inherent monstrosity of mankind.”

“Yeah, but I was a college kid and also high off my ass, while from the sound of things you were fully in possession of your capabilities and just made a lot of ridiculous decisions.”

“Shut up.”

“I have to say, if I had to guess what crime El Presidente would call me up and confess, this is not what I would have guessed. I would have thought maybe corporate espionage? Blackmailing your political enemies?”

Nate sighs, “Everyone thinks this is a hilarious fucking joke, and it may be, but it’s also still my life so can you be helpful before you entertain yourself?”

Dustin laughs. “Sorry, man, but it really is funny. The good news is, I don’t think you have a problem here. I mean, make no mistake, you definitely broke some laws, but it doesn’t sound like they can prove it, and at a certain point, it becomes a financial loss to the company to keep investigating. Especially if, as it sounds like, the bills your insurance company would have to pay are for a one-time thing and not too expensive. This isn’t my area of expertise or anything, but as long as your friends keep lying for you and you and your husband keep your stories straight, you should be fine.”

Nate sighs again. He shouldn’t even say anything, but it’s all weighing on him, and this is one of his oldest friends in the world. “What if Ray doesn’t actually know we got married?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Nate’s silence confirm’s Dustin’s guess, and he howls with laughter. “You really fucked this one -”

Nate hangs up on him. One of the benefits to being friends with someone for over a decade is that you get to do shit like that when they’re being dickheads.

_______  


Walt’s been on the phone with Ray for half an hour when Ray gets to the reason he called. He can hear Ray moving around his apartment as he starts talking about Nate, so Walt grabs a beer and heads out to sit on his apartment balcony. He can tell this is going to take awhile.

“Why are you freaking out, man? Fick’s known you for years, and he still said yes when you asked him out. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was getting into.”

“Fuck you, too, Walter! He’s like a real grown up! He wears suits and his company has stock options. My job pays in beer and oil changes when Sketchy Jason doesn’t want to pay his tab!”

“Yeah, but he fucking knows that! You asked him out when you had a concussion from being a drunken dumbass! He doesn’t think you’ve secretly been a Wall Street banker this whole time.”

“Alright, but like, that was when we were friends, right? We went out for burritos at that place near my apartment last night, and he came straight from work and I swear-to-god they thought he was my john.”

Walt smothers a laugh. He could imagine Nate with his clean cut looks and suit looking totally out of place across a table from Ray in his work clothes, which usually consisted of a tee with torn off sleeves and stained jeans.

“Who the fuck cares about what they think?” Walt is swearing more than he usually would, but the best way to calm Ray down is to speak his language. He sounds like he’s genuinely freaking out about this, and Walt feels bad. He just hopes none of his neighbors gets pissed.

“I don’t know!” Ray practically wails it. “You should see his last ex. She plays tennis, Walt. Like in the little tiny skirt. And on our last date, it wasn’t even a date we just talked trash and played shuffleboard at Murphy’s but at that date, my shirt totally had a hole under the arm, and you know he noticed, and he was wearing a button down. And it was ironed. He owns an iron! And you can be friends with whoever, but when you’re dating, you’re supposed to go together! You’re supposed to be a matching pair. And his last go-together plays tennis and probably saves kittens from trees and went down on him like a fucking vacuum cleaner.”

Walt presses a finger to the headache brewing behind his right eye. “I can’t believe you’re making me say this out loud, but so do you. Go down like a vacuum cleaner.”

“This is true!” Ray says brightly, “And you fucking loved it, you shameless hussy.”

Walt ignores him. “Have you talked to Nate about this? The matching shit? And how the fuck do you know that about his ex? You guys haven’t been dating long enough to have had that talk.”

“Facebook, homes, it’s a thing. You should know. You’re practically a middle-aged woman as it is, Facebook would be perfect for you. And no. I haven’t. Nate gets all squirrely whenever I try to talk about this shit.”

Walt rolls his eyes and drinks more beer. Ray is a pain, but he isn’t usually this high-strung.

“That doesn’t sound right. You sure you aren’t imagining things?”

“Fuck no! He starts saying all this shit about how ‘it’s early’ and ‘we don’t need to put a name on it.’ He says it like he’s reassuring me, but we both know that isn’t it. He probably saw the hole in my shirt and now he’s looking for a way to let me down easy.”

Walt knows Nate well enough to know that he’d never give up that easily on something he wanted and to know Nate wouldn’t have started something with Ray if he didn’t want a real relationship, but still...that doesn’t sound great. He sighs. Luckily, Ray’s already moved on.

“And Colbert’s no fucking help. I tried to talk to him about it and he just said something shitty about putting money on the fact he’d see our names on a marriage license. What the fuck? He’s been pushing me to ask Nate out for like eight months, you’d think he’d be at least a little bit interested in keeping me from fucking it up completely.”

“Forget Brad. I still think you should talk to Nate. It’s better to have an uncomfortable conversation than have you totally lose your mind. The world does not need to see you in one of those tennis outfits.”

Ray laughs and follows the tangent Walt had offered him, spouting some nonsense about how Walt should BE so lucky. Mission accomplished, Walt thinks.

_______  


Nate knows better than to underestimate a single one of his guys, no matter how good natured they seem. After all, no one becomes a Recon Marine by accident. Still, if he had to guess where and who would be the first to strike genuine fear into his heart, he wouldn’t have guessed Walt, and he wouldn’t have guessed it would happen whilst Nate was sorting his laundry.

Walt wastes no time. As soon as Nate picks up the phone, Hasser starts in, voice serious. “Hey, I get that this is none of my business, but what the FUCK do you think you’re doing?” The anger in Walt’s voice is so visceral and surprising, that Nate drops the shirt he’s been holding.

Nate assumes that someone’s told Walt about the whole insurance fraud/fake marriage thing, so he’s completely unprepared when Walt continues, “You know he has real feelings for you, right?”

“Ray?” Nate regrets the question as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Who else would Walt be calling about? Also, that makes him sound like he has a handful of boyfriends and routinely gets calls from angry best friends, which is not a great look. The only calls he gets these days are from his mom prying about his love life and Brad and Poke offering unhelpful marriage advice. He picks up the shirt again and absentmindedly scratches on the peanut butter stain Ray left in it.

“Yes, Ray!” Walt snaps, and Nate throws the shirt in the laundry hamper. “I assume you didn’t lose your cotton-picking mind, and you didn’t start something with Ray just to mess him around, but you are making that very difficult. What the FUCK is all this shit you’re telling him about “not putting labels on things” and “taking it one day at a time”? Because I’ll tell you what, the best thing about Ray is that he doesn’t give a fuck about what anyone else thinks of him, and I have had multiple calls from him worrying that he’s not good enough for you.”

Ice shoots through Nate’s veins. He never wants Ray to feel small because of him.

Before Nate can collect his thoughts, Walt continues. “If you aren’t serious about him -”

“No,” Nate interrupts, “I am!”

“Then act like it! Because you’re fucking with his head, and Ray doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.” Walt’s almost shouting at the end of the sentence, and Nate stares at his dirty laundry hamper, feeling waves of guilt rolling off him. If Walt is this pissed about Nate, Ray must be feeling really bad.

“Walt,” Nate starts, genuinely not sure what he’s going to say. He can’t tell Walt the truth, because Walt will immediately tell Ray, and then everything will go to hell, but Walt’s pissed and it’s horrifying.

Before Nate can find his words, Walt says, “I honestly don’t give a shit, LT. Fix it or I’m flying out there and I’m fixing it. And there is no way that ends with Ray continuing to put up with your shit.”

Before Nate can finish processing that specific and believable threat, Walt has already hung up.

“Great,” Nate mutters into the silence.

_________

Ever since marrying Ray, social occasions have become something of a minefield for Nate. Not precisely knowing who knows what makes things even worse - Nate has tried to keep a mental tally of who’s in the know (Brad, Poke, Mike, Qtip, Christeson are confirmed, Manimal is highly likely) but it’s not as if Nate can go up to his friends and ask them whether they know about it. Add to that the danger of Ray accidentally eavesdropping on a conversation between Brad and Poke, and Ray’s general talent to sniff out the latest gossip, and Nate’s about to develop an ulcer.

On the bright side, his platoon seems to have taken in stride the fact that Ray and Nate are now dating, so there’s that. Of course, there were the expected off-colour jokes and comments, and Ray and Nate were put on different teams for their game of paintball, but that was to be expected.

After the game, Nate enjoys the sight of Ray, surrounded by his team, entertaining everyone by what seems to be a very involved enactment of some of the more elaborate hits he just scored. Or suffered. It’s hard to tell with Ray.

“Worried about your husband?” Poke says while he’s adding up his hits on a piece of paper.

“Now, don’t take it the wrong way, Nate” Brad says, looking over Poke’s shoulder. “Rudy is just naturally affectionate towards anyone. I don’t think your marriage is in trouble just yet.”

“Fuck you.” Nate replies, still watching Ray and ignoring Poke’s and Brad’s laughter. Ray catches Nate’s glance and winks at him, which causes the rest of the group to break out in a collective fit of awwwing and fawning. Ray waves them the bird, and Brad mumbles something like ‘soulmates’ under his breath, but pretends to be very interested in Poke’s sheet when Nate turns around to check.

But then, the discussion between Ray and Rudy seems to be quite intense, judging from Rudy’s power stance, and Ray looking intently up at his friend. Ray’s nodding along, but Nate can sense that his boyfriend needs a rescue, so he makes his way over to them, handing out high fives and rebuttals to comments along the way.

“You have to face your fears, my brother!” Rudy says, insistently, his index finger almost poking Ray’s chest. Ray looks at Nate, and mouths ‘thank God’ at him. Nate smiles.

“Nate, help me on this. I’ve been trying to convince Ray to follow up on that hospital bill.” Nate will do absolutely no such thing. What if Ray calls up the hospital just to find out that his bill was covered by his husband’s insurance? That’s sure to raise a question or two.

Oblivious to Nate’s dilemma, Rudy continues. “Not knowing hurts you more than finding out the truth, my brother. You have to face your fears in order to conquer them.” And Nate understands where Rudy is coming from - normally, he would have nagged Ray about this, would have offered to call up the hospital on his behalf. But these are not normal times, and Nate seriously wishes Rudy would stop talking right now.

“I don’t know,” Nate says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. “These things can take some time to process. I’m sure if Ray owed them money, they’d be chasing him down.”

Rudy’s forehead creases at Nate’s attempt at waving away an apparently magically free hospital visit.

“Don’t listen to Rudy, Nate. It’s not about how deep you can go. It’s all about the ball-handling.” Brad’s voice suddenly says on Nate’s right, and Nate was never more grateful for unsolicited blow job advice. “I’m sure you are doing the best you can.”

Ray mutters “_Yeah_, you are,” and Brad gives him a high-five.

“Again, Brad, fuck you.” Nate says, stealing Brad’s beer.

From there on out, the conversation devolves into asserted dirty jokes and comparisons of various brothels. Normally, Nate would try to steer it into safer territory, but if this whole thing taught him one thing, it’s that he has to pick his battles. 

**Section Five: In Which Our Hero’s Elaborate Ruse is Brought Down By A Plant, and Everyone Lives Contentedly and Chaotically Ever After**

In general, Nate is surprisingly good at being not-an-asshole about money stuff. He definitely owns too many polo shirts, but Ray’s pretty sure that’s a personality flaw and not necessarily the result of growing up with whatever he needed and most of the things he wanted. 

He doesn’t mind going dutch on most of their dates, he didn’t raise a single disapproving eyebrow at Ray blowing his paycheck on video games, and if he’s deliberately planning cheap dates, he isn’t obvious about it. He’s even been surprisingly laid back about Ray blowing off the hospital bill from his header on the playground. Maybe it’s all the sex they’ve been having, but Nate hasn’t nagged him about it once. Ray should have seduced Nate ages ago.

But today, he’s being a royal pain in Ray’s ass, and no matter how many times Ray tries to distract him with dirty talk, he won’t play ball. So, yeah, Ray woke up with an itchy rash on his calf, but it is probably just fucking poison ivy. No point in blowing a bunch of cash to have a doctor tell him what he already knows. 

But this morning, Nate was all “Just go to the walk-in clinic, Ray.” and “What if it’s an allergic reaction, Ray?” like this is an easy thing and not the kind of thing that will sit on Ray’s credit card for fucking months. He doesn’t get it. Probably can’t. Ray tries not to hold it against him.

He’s texted from work twice to ask if Ray has seen someone yet, and Ray ignored him both times. He hasn’t mentioned that the rash has spread up his legs and onto his arms and his fucking chest and back. Nate’s clearly on the edge of insisting on paying for it himself, and Ray sees no need to give Nate more ammunition.

Ray’s itchy and he’s miserable and if it is an allergic reaction, he hopes it doesn’t fucking kill him, because he finally got the beautiful, dirty-minded Marine boyfriend of his dreams, and he’s not done being debauched by him. And having domestic little cuddle sessions with him. Whatever, Ray can kill any motherfuckers who want to mock him for that, or he can have his boyfriend do it, so he’s not worried.

He’s spreadeagled on the wood floor of Nate’s apartment in just his boxers, hoping the cool floor will keep him from scratching all of his skin off with a butter knife when he hears Nate’s key in the door. It’s way too early for him to be home from work.

Ray hasn’t even had a chance to scramble to his feet by the time Nate’s standing over him. 

“I fucking knew it. You’re going to a doctor.”

“I can’t afford it. I’ll just ride it out. I’m fine!”

Nate glares down at Ray, who has collapsed back onto the floor. Might as well be as comfortable as he can while he has this fight. He’s not going to lose just because some stupid plant made his skin eat itself. When Nate speaks, his voice is clipped in a way Ray hasn’t heard since Iraq. It’s a voice that speaks of barely contained frustration, and if Ray were smart he’d probably take that as a warning sign, but instead it pisses him off.

“You’re very clearly not fine. And this is no longer a discussion. When allergic reactions spread, the last places they spread are the palms and the neck before they spread to the throat and mouth and you start to have trouble breathing.”

Nate points to Ray’s palms, which are covered in red scaly bumps. “And I’m not having you die on my floor just because you’re too fucking hardheaded to accept help when you need it. We are going to the doctor and, if you live and if I don’t murder you for being a jackass, we can talk about you paying off your debt with sexual favors.”

Nate somehow smirks while still glaring. Ray wonders somewhat deliriously if that’s a skill they teach at fancy private schools. He wonders if Nate will teach it to him someday.

“I don’t have insurance, so I’m not going to the doctor. End of fucking story. I’m not taking your money. Especially since I don’t even know how much that concussion is going to cost me.”

Nate runs a frustrated hand through his hair, which is pretty fucking weird looking from Ray’s perspective on the floor. Then Nate nods, and Ray knows this nod. He’s seen it a lot in Iraq, normally when Encino Man handed down a stupid order that Nate did not want to execute, but had to. It’s a ‘alright then’ nod. 

Before Ray can process what’s going on, Nate sits down on the floor next to him. Which is nice, because having Nate in touching distance is always nice, but to be honest, Ray’s itching skin really does look super gross, and he’s hesitating to touch Nate with his raw red palm. So he just scoots closer until his head is almost in Nate’s lap. 

“The thing is, Ray.” Nate starts, petting Ray’s hair. “I might have panicked when you were out cold with that concussion.” 

“Aww, baby, that’s so sweet.” Ray drawls, not quite sure what his last fuckup has to do with his current one. If Nate can’t keep up with Ray’s fuckups, it’s gonna be a problem. Ray’s productivity when it comes to manufacturing fuckups is quite astonishing and has only slightly decreased since he stopped being around loaded weapons 24/7. 

“It was just a little panic, whatever. Brad will tell you when you ask him about it.” Nate continues. His hand is nice and cold on Ray’s scalp. 

“Sure, honey. Just a tiny panic.” Ray knows it’s pretty fucked up, but the thought that he made Nate panic warms his heart. Because Nate has been in wars and fighting insurgencies, but what made his brain stop working was Ray. Ray decides to hold this over Nate for the rest of their days. Which will hopefully be many. If the rash does not kill him. 

“And in this tiny panic, I put you on my insurance. So it paid for your concussion, and it’s going to pay for this visit. And we can fight about this later, but right now you need to see a doctor, because your face has turned into the colour of a brick wall, and that can’t be good. C’mon. Get up.” 

Nate is poking at Ray’s hair to get him up, because the rest of Ray is infections and too gross to touch. And Ray knows a thing or two about drowning important information in a sea of bullshit, so his brain still processes what Nate said while he’s helped into his clothes, which make his skin itch with the fury of a thousand suns, and out of the apartment. 

He’s not entirely sure how insurance works, but surely putting someone on it can’t be this easy - otherwise, everyone would do it. But then what if Nate’s right? He does think he feels a tickle in his throat. He was just kidding about dying by rash, he’s not ready to actually go!

Ray can’t let Nate know that he might be right so he decides to be strategic about this. 

“Okay, but I want the record to show that I’m doing you a favour here. I’m totally magnanimous. Hey. Can you text Brad I used his word correctly?” 

“Sure, Ray.” Nate says, but when he takes out his phone, it’s to call a cab, not to text Brad. Ray would protest, but tracking the tickle in his throat and making sure it doesn’t get worse takes up a lot of his attention. 

The fact that they are getting seen almost as soon as they step into the emergency room is also not a good sign. Ray decides to leave Nate to do the insurance and signing in formalities, because between the two of them, Nate actually cares about these things, and is able to think straight. Ray sighs when he sees Nate pulling out a pen from his pockets. What a nerd. One look at the rash swelling Ray’s left eye closed has the nurses scooping him into a chair and rushing him back to be hooked up to some IV.

Things only calm down when the doctor diagnoses Ray with a severe case of poison ivy poisoning, which Ray totally knew from the start. He sends a triumphant smirk Nate’s way, but the fact that the doctor is saying he needs multiple steroid shots right away might reduce the impact somewhat. 

They shoot Ray up with steroids and give him forty-three thousand different pills and creams. He hopes Nate’s paying attention to what to do with them, because Ray is still itchy and the drug they gave him is making him kinda sleepy. Finally, they end up in the hospital parking lot, Ray sipping on some antihistamine juice that is surprisingly tasty. Seriously, the Marine milkshakes tasted way worse than this, and that just goes to show how bad their food supply was. 

“So.” Ray says, biting on his straw. They gave him a plastic straw, unlike those hipster coffee places Brad likes to pretend he doesn’t like. 

That’s all Nate seems to have been waiting for. “First of all, it worked, so jot that down,” he says, urgently, “and it was Brad’s idea.”

Ray hums noncommittally and bites down on the straw to keep him from saying something stupid. Nate seems pretty high-strung, and it’s probably best if they do this on Nate’s own time. Sure, Nate looks downright pitiful, but he wasn’t lying - somehow, he got Ray on his insurance, because they released him without so much as mentioning a bill, much less waving the old one in his face. So things are looking up for Ray here. 

Nate takes a deep breath and finally meets Ray’s eyes. “Here’s the thing. I married you while you were out cold. I mean, the idea was to divorce you as soon as the insurance went through, but that didn't work out as planned. So I’m sorry that I married you without asking you, but I’m not sorry because it was the only thing I could think of.” 

Ray blinks, once, twice. Nate looks at him, worried. “Ray? Are you mad? I promise we can get divorced as soon as this new claim is processed. We could have gotten divorced way earlier if you would just stop getting injured every five damn seconds.” 

And Ray laughs. He laughs so hard he gets the hiccups, and Nate has to slap his back, which makes it itch again. Ray hands him his cup, and bends over when Nate takes it. His hands braced on his thighs make those itch again, because poison ivy is a bitch. Ray’s going to burn every plant in the tri-state area when he feels better.

It takes a while for Ray to calm down, and when he does, Nate hands him a napkin to wipe the tears off his face. Ray takes it, and looks at his boyfriend. Husband. Wowza. That’s a thought. 

Nate still looks apprehensive, and Ray needs to shut this thing down right now, so he takes Nate’s hand and accidentally knocks over the cup in the process. Nate rescues it before too much of the anti ivy juice gets lost. They are a great team. Nate doesn’t even look grossed out by his gooey rash hands.

“You’ve been freaking out over this?” Ray asks, and Nate tries to speak, but Ray cuts in. “You’re so dumb. I mean, you’re lucky you’re pretty, homes, because you are _so fucking dumb_. I have pretended that it is my birthday at El Patron so many times that they have a sign up by the register saying not to give me free dessert. You saw it when we were there last week. Obviously, I am totally down for a fake marriage to get free insurance. Marriage is just an antiquated institution to help rich people consolidate their money and oppress poor people. And not itching to death is a way better perk than free churros.” 

Nate’s face lights up and that’s some really gay shit right here, but Ray loves the way Nate looks at him right now. As if Ray was the greatest, best person in the world. He would happily eat nothing but poison ivy for the rest of his life if Nate would keep on looking at him like that. 

Then another thought enters Ray’s mind. “So, do I get dental?”


End file.
